


Domesticated

by KorrohShipper



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Day 5, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Stay-At-Home Parent Steve Rogers, Steggy - Freeform, Steggy Week 2019, Steggy baby, Time Travel, steggyweek2k19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 14:01:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19870804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: Life after Steve Rogers returns to 1949 and reunites with Peggy Carter.





	Domesticated

**Author's Note:**

> **Day 5 (Friday): Domestic Bliss**

There was a hearty meal set on the table, a barking dog running around in the backyard who made enough noise to be known, and a towering figure looming over the sink to scrub over the dishes.

Peggy stifled her laughter and set down a bag of groceries on a fairly empty kitchen counter. “How utterly domestic.” Steve’s head whipped around and beamed widely at her, as if her mere presence had suddenly removed all trace of evil from this world.

“Peggy!” Steve, mechanically and systematically, leaned over the sink and reached for a dry kitchen towel, rubbing his arms dry.

Peggy’s nose wrinkled and narrowed her eyes into slits. “Oh, for crying out loud, Steven, _pat_ , don’t rub.” She surged forward, taking the cloth in her own hands, and pat his arms dry enough so that he took her into a tight embrace.

“I’ve missed you.” Steve ignored her raving and instead— _much favorably, as well_ —planted a kiss on top of her hair, allowing her to sink into his embrace. “You’re home early.” He noted, his voice caked with a pleasing hum that his chest seem to reverberate. She wouldn't admit it, but his chest reverberated deliciously.

Peggy sank into his embrace, forgetting about the ordeal and readily reached for his hold, her eyes falling heavy with ease and comfort and wooden carts upon carts sat in the corner of her kitchen containing what seemed like enough mason jars to put the grocers to shame.

It was only then, Peggy decided when the air around them had been deliciously laced with the strong and sweet scent of strawberries. “Steve, darling, is there anything you wish to tell me?” she asked pointedly, eyeing the crates of empty mason jars and what could only be described as a platoon of heavily coated pans in the sink that gave off the scent of strawberries.

Steve’s eyes flickered towards the crates and beamed even wider, a jump in his step as he pulled away and made a beeline towards the refrigerator to show an entire section overcome with rows of strawberry jam.

Peggy, despite herself, laughed and raised an eyebrow at the incredulous amount of jam in her fridge. “Are we going to become a manufactory, darling?” a twinkle in her voice earned her a look from her husband.

“You know, when my friends told me to get a life, this isn’t what they probably had in mind.” 

"Darling, not even Doctor Erskine had anything remotely like _this_ in mind when he chose you for Project Rebirth!" he shook his head and once he stood across from her, she properly situated near the refrigerator, she was finally able to soak in the sight.

Steve had worn a different shirt earlier in the morning when he left to go the publishing company to submit the illustrations he’d been working on. The steady scent of jam that radiated from over the stairs and his messily stained apron and collar of his gave her one impression.

Ever since James was born, her husband, who had time-traveled from the distant future of the year 2023, had cleared much of his time from his demanding position as S.H.I.E.L.D.’s field tactician. The amount of time it left him had allowed him to be a more hands-on father with their son and took up a freelance position as an illustrator at a local publishing firm.

As Peggy recalled, he had a deadline, one that he should have been working on. “Have you been working on _this_ all day?”

Steve nodded quickly, brandishing a finished jar. “I finished the sketch earlier,” he held his hands up in defense, a light look on his face that mirrored her smile. “And when I submitted the plates to the editor, a client was sitting in. Turns out, the company made a generous deal with a local farming community and some of the farmers decided to show their goodwill by—“

Peggy cut him off with a laugh and Steve gave her a lopsided grin as he handed to her the strawberry jam. “Being under the impression that we’re without food?” Steve glanced at the sack of potatoes and the basket of vegetables hanging near the door leading to the backyard.

Steve gave her a trying smile, unfazed by her teasing. “By giving a bunch of us at the office a few produce. And when I came to drop off James at his friend’s birthday party, one of the neighbors, Mrs. Collins— _I think_ —decided to give me a recipe for jam some of them were making at the party. Figured that I’d make a few.”

Peggy joined him near the refrigerator and pulled on the handle, her hand firmly placed upon her hip. “A few?” she repeated, drawing out the word.

Her husband beamed at her, unable to stop his ever-growing smile. “Okay,” he relented. “I got carried away. Maybe more than a few?” he gave her a sheepish smile with a squeak.

“Darling, not even the corner grocers have enough jam to rival our little supply here. If I didn’t know better, you’re going to take this _concoction_ of yours to the market.” 

“Hey, now,” Steve began, but his voice remained light and teasing. “I’ll have you know that James thought it tastes good. Like _buy-it-from-the-stores_ kind of good.” The proud tone in her husband's voice sent a course of warmth that tugged on her heart. 

She scoffed, with all good meaning. “Steve, darling, as much as I love you and our darling boy,” they both glanced at a photograph hanging by the wall, allowing them a perfect moment of their son playing with their dog, a fairly sized golden retriever preserved in time. “Our son’s opinion on the matter is far too biased even if his answer is remotely based on his limited palate."

Steve nodded his head slowly, his face glancing around as if to give her that point. As much as she wanted to rise to the stereotype, she’s never had much talent in the kitchen and while Steve is a much more tolerable cook, with his arsenal of knowledge about the modern cuisine of the future, is far too green to be consider anything more fried eggs and pancakes. Maybe mashed potatoes, if he’s being adventurous, but nothing more.

“Well, yeah. Anyways, birthday boy, James’ friend—“

“Jonathan. Goldstein.” Peggy interjected helpfully.

“Yeah, Jonathan’s mom gave us a casserole and some leftovers from the party.” Steve jabbed his thumb at the table. “The wives took pity on me and sent us on our way with loads of food to last us until kingdom comes.”

Peggy rolled her eyes and pressed herself against Steve’s side. Her husband was as oblivious as always to his admirers. “Oh, what the sewing club must think of me, starving my family.” 

Steve had a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Better than giving us food poisoning.”

Peggy jabbed her elbow into his ribs, earning a disgruntled _"ow"_ from her husband who had the gall to smile at her, unabashed at all. “Cheeky bloke, whatever did I see in you?” she muttered under her breath, with a smile on her face.

“Too late to annul the marriage, I’m afraid.”

Peggy tutted at her husband and waved her index finger warningly. “Oh, don’t get so cocky, darling, there’s always divorce and I’m sure that MI6 will be willing to help out one of their own if S.H.I.E.L.D. is too. . . _compromised_ to help you disappear.” Steve shook his head and took her into his arms again.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, carefully scooting away the stained apron.

Peggy craned her head up to gaze at her husband, who already had his eyes upon her, looking at her as if she hung the stars and moon above. “You know, I never thought that we’d have this,” she gestured around them. Her heart still held a glow of joy every time she remembered that fateful day he returned to her, on that booth at the L&L Automat.

Never the religious type, Peggy couldn't help but thank God, anyone who was listening. Any God that ever was, is, or will be, that he craned his neck just at the right angle and that Angie had the gall to drag her by the arm. She's thankful that Steve went above and beyond to give her back her choice—even if he was over four years late.

She leaned in to his embrace again, allowing herself to listen to the steady heartbeat that lulled her into a gentle trance. “It’s so utterly domestic. What a terrible influence I have been on you. I’ve broken America’s golden boy.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh loudly. “And what? Leave you in the kitchen to tend to the house? Leave Peggy Carter to become domesticated? The word would collapse on itself if I let that happen.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” her tone teasing. “I can wield both the apron and spatula and juggle it alongside running the country's premier secret intelligence organization. Or is that something the future doesn’t hold?” Steve laughed, flicker of fondness in his eyes, no doubt about the friends he's grown to love from the future.

“Nah, knowing you, you’d probably do both and set a damn world record. But the Avengers might just come and haul my ass for benching the great Peggy Carter. Hell, Phil Coulson might even put me on his blacklist.”

Peggy mocked shock, widened her eyes and covered her lips with her hand. “Steven! Your vocabulary is appalling! Do you expect me to believe that you kiss your wife with that mouth.”

A mischievous and darker glint in his eyes shone and Peggy pressed her body further into his, closing any possible space if it were possible, unwilling to ignore the warmth that pooled in the bottom of her stomach. “Oh, I’ll have you know my wife expects me to do so much more with this mouth.”

Peggy inched forward. “Well, Captain,” his lips hovered dangerously close to hers, their breaths mingling in the most satisfying way. “It’s for the best we put it to the test, yes? To save your wife the trouble, of course.” She added coyly, sensual and slow.

“Well, I’ve got an idea or two.” He might have said offhandedly, but his eyes darkened, his breathing heavier and his hold around her waist growing tighter—the innuendo, clearly, not lost.

“Then show me, Captain. Or are you not the star-spangled man with a plan?”


End file.
